


bliss

by hbalbat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbalbat/pseuds/hbalbat
Summary: After a particularly breezy summer day causes Bucky’s private notebooks to land in Steve’s hands when he isn’t home, Steve takes the opportunity to learn a bit about himself and Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	bliss

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that is entirely new for me. To be fair, I haven’t written a lot, but this fic covers a different pairing of Steve and Bucky that I don’t typically write. However, I’d have to say that pre-war Stucky is 100% one of my favorite pairings of these two characters! I was putting this one off for a while because the authors who write that pairing are always so poetic in their writing, and I’m just not 😂. I tried to be a bit more poetic than I usually am for this one, though! So with that said, I do hope you like this fic. If you enjoy it, I would appreciate it if you could comment and/or leave kudos :)  
> My inspiration for this fic was a combination of one of my favorite songs that reminds me of Stucky and then NEC (Not Easily Conquered). The song (Bliss by Muse, hence the title) itself reminds me of Bucky in NEC, so I tried to pull some inspiration from those things. I pulled some of the lyrics from the song and put them into Bucky’s writing as well! BTW, Steve can read very quickly in this (he covers a lot of reading in a relatively short time).  
> This fic is a canon divergent pre-war Stucky fic. This fic’s “present-day” is in the middle of August, pretty much a month before the draft. But Bucky and Steve don’t go to war, because I like them to live in a world of complete peace and happiness for both of them. They can just live out their lives how they want, and nothing will be pulling them apart (like HYDRA or the Accords or anything else, it’s not allowed here). With that said, let me get into it!  
> And one final note: so I was an idiot and wrote out the entire first scene without checking Bucky’s religion first (I know Steve is Irish Catholic). And I guess it’s a common headcanon that he’s Jewish (which I somewhat forgot?) That said. The MCU never even specifies it, so I rolled with him being somewhere under the Catholic branch (it’ll make more sense when you read!)

**_December 25, 1926_ **

Even though it was only dawn, Bucky’s younger sister Becca grows restless in her bed. Bucky sleeps in his bedroom next door, and their parents sleep right down the hall. The children had gone to sleep early last night, only after they left out cookies for Santa that they had baked with their mom. They had helped her roll out the dough and cut out the shapes, sampling some of the raw cookie dough behind their mother’s back, giggling as they did. And even though Bucky and Becca washed their hands before they iced the cookies, they licked their sickly sweet fingers every time they “accidentally” got it on themselves. Decorating Christmas cookies was something that the Barnes family always used to do every holiday season.

Now on Christmas morning, Bucky was perfectly fine with sleeping in a little bit longer, but Becca came crashing into Bucky’s room at 5:30 am, guns a-blazing, shouting “Santa came Bucky, come on, we need to get up!” Bucky audibly groans, but Becca ignores him. She runs to his bed, jerking him awake. And although Bucky was tired after a long day yesterday, he couldn’t be mad at his adorable little sister. “Alright, Becca, let’s go see what Santa brought us! But first, you need to go wake up mom and dad.”

At that, Becca gives Bucky a big toothy grin and runs into their parent’s room. Bucky laughs to himself as he walks into their living room, hearing her excitement from down the hall. Once he gets into the living room, he lights up when he sees the entirety of their Christmas setup. Christmas was Bucky’s favorite time of year. All of the presents, decorations, scents, and love made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, especially when he knew that he and Steve would always share the toys that they got on Christmas day.

While Bucky waits on the couch with Becca, their mom pulls out the ingredients for the skillet puff pancake. Every Christmas morning, they’d get the chance to enjoy the delectable breakfast, complete with raspberries, powdered sugar, and syrup. It was always still warm from being freshly baked, the perfect way to wake up in the morning. It might be Bucky’s favorite Christmas family tradition. Just by looking at the unbaked version, Bucky’s mouth was already watering.

“Bucky, honey, why don’t you pull the stockings down from the fireplace for you and your sister? You can open them while you wait for breakfast,” Winifred suggests, hands full in the kitchen. “Okay, mom.” Bucky goes to grab the stockings, standing on his tiptoes to reach them. He brings them back over and lays them on the carpeted floor, careful not to spill any of the wrapped goods inside. To make everyone more comfortable, he places down two throw pillows for him and his sister, as well as two chairs for his parents.

Both Bucky and Becca fervently tear through their stocking stuffers, loving each new gift more and more. After Bucky finishes, he looks at his stash so far. Little candies, toys, and some new socks were all a part of his collection. “Thank you so much, mom and dad!” they both exclaim in unison.

Right as Bucky begins to move his smaller gifts into his bedroom, he hears the timer go off in the kitchen for the skillet pancake. He takes that as his cue to carefully toss his goods onto the bed and get to the kitchen table as fast as he can. “Breakfast, kids!” their dad calls to them, but Bucky and Becca are already nearly in their seats. 

Bucky waits patiently as his mom serves him and his sister a serving of the puff pancake. Although he’d rather eat fast, Bucky savors the taste of every bite, taking his time to finish it. It wasn’t every day that he could get this! 

It only takes around 10 minutes, but the Barnes family finishes their breakfast. Winifred cleans up the pan and puts away the leftovers while George keeps the children occupied. When Winifred finishes, she asks, “alright. Now, who’s ready to see what Santa brought for them?” Becca and Bucky both jolt out of their seats and fly to their seats on the floor. “Me!”

“Becca, you can go first,” Bucky tells her as he hands her the box wrapped in emerald-green wrapping paper with a sticker saying ‘To Rebecca; Love, Santa’ on it. “Okay. Thank you, Bucky,” she says as he places the box in front of her. Becca’s eyes light up as she pulls out what is inside. “I can’t believe Santa got me a new doll: this is just what I wanted!”

Both George and Winifred smile, seeing how their daughter reacts to the present. “You’re right! It is Bec!” Winifred says enthusiastically. “What do you think you are going to name her?” Becca takes a moment to think. “I think I’ll name her... Betty!” George smiles as he picks up the ripped-up wrapping paper. “That’s a wonderful name, sweetie.”

Bucky had been waiting so patiently for Becca to open her gift that he hadn’t even realized that she’d finished. “Okay, Bucky, it’s your turn to open Santa’s gift! What do you think it’ll be?” his parents ask. He hadn’t written down a list for Santa this year: he and Steve had agreed that Santa should surprise them. “I don’t know, but I hope it’s good!”

George hands a small rectangular package to Bucky, much lighter than Becca’s had been. He carefully tears the neatly folded paper from itself, revealing a brown Moleskine notebook inside, along with a set of high-quality pencils and a fountain pen. He picks it up, flipping through all of the pages. 

“What do you think, Bucky? Did Santa do a good job this year?” his parents question, trying to elicit some sort of response. Bucky takes a minute to look through everything. “I like it a lot! I just wasn’t expecting it. But now I can be an artist like Stevie, just with words!” Both of Bucky’s parents chuckle with that reaction, glad they could make their son happy. “That’s our creative little boy,” Winifred soothes, ruffling her hand in Bucky’s hair.

Bucky had smiled a lot that day as he showed Steve that notebook and the rest of his stash. Although that was a Christmas from long ago, it was a Christmas Bucky would always remember.

**  
  
**

**_August 13th, 1940 (present-day)_ **

The air was warm, just a muggy day. This kind of weather was typical for Brooklyn in the middle of August. Bucky rises with the sun while Steve stays put in bed, still sleeping. When Bucky goes into the kitchen looking for some fruit to eat for breakfast, he only sees one apricot left. **_“There’s gotta be something else for me to eat,”_** Bucky figures as he looks around the cramped cupboards. He wanted to save that apricot for Steve. After finding nothing, he decides to just go with a cup of water this morning, at least for now.

After pouring himself a mug of water, he situates himself at their 4x4’ oak table with his most recent Moleskine notebook. The pages were still worn, and many of them were dog-eared, but Bucky didn’t care. He put everything he had into those. Although the edges of each page on this one had begun to soften, just like all of his old journals, he kept it. All of the memories were inside of it. Next to the open notebook was a stack of three more, dating back to Christmas of ‘26.

He’s finishing up the writing on the last page of this notebook when he hears Steve grunting. It’s usually the sound he makes when he’ll be waking up in a little while. The sound makes Bucky lift his head from his notebook and turn to the sleeping blonde. Steve mutters under his breath and shimmies around as he nestles himself further into the covers. Bucky stifles his desire to laugh by huffing a breath into the back of his knuckles and turns back to his notebook, scribbling in one final message.

Bucky’s stomach growls suddenly, ruining the peaceful moment. He was starving, but he knew he couldn’t take that last apricot from Steve. He needed it more than Bucky did. As soon as Bucky is about to give up any hope on breakfast, he gets an idea. If he lets Steve know and leaves now, he could go down to the grocery store a few blocks down and pick up a few oranges for them, at least for the morning. They’d worry about the rest of the groceries later.

“Hey, Stevie, I’ll be back in a little while. Okay? If I’m not here when you get up, don’t worry,” Bucky whispers to Steve, his face still nuzzled into the old and faded pillow cover. He gets a muffled “mhmm” in reply, Steve’s long, thick eyelashes still shut. Even though Steve can’t see him, Bucky gives Steve an affectionate smile.

Before he hurries out, Bucky decides he should open the window for Steve. “I’mma leave these windows open for ya’, okay Stevie?” he informs as he pushes them open. It’s a breezy summer day, but he figures he needs to release some of the stale air in their apartment, at least while he’s gone. Bucky walks over to the bed one last time and pats the sleeping lump on the shoulder. “We need to get some airflow in here, get some fresh Brooklyn air for those great lungs a’ yours.” With that, Bucky heads out the door. 

Steve lies in bed that morning, feeling relaxed despite the substandard quality of their old mattress. The breeze blows through the apartment, sweeping his blonde strands out of his eyes with each gust. Rolling onto his back, Steve sits up and stretches out his arms, yawning. As he leans back onto the lumpy pillow, he sighs heavily. **_“What could Bucky have to do this early in the morning?”_**

As Steve begins to get out of bed to head to the fire escape for his daily morning sketch, something catches his eye. Bucky’s notebook collection was lying on the table, as per usual, but something was off. Bucky was in such a hurry to get to wherever he was going that he left his notebook open and slightly hanging off the edge of the table. Bucky was usually forgetful like that. With Steve constantly preoccupying his focus, he had to be. Although Steve always tried to do things on his own, that didn’t stop Bucky from wanting to help where he could. It was just in his nature, but even more so if it was to help Steve.

As Steve stands up to pull the elastic around the cover, a gust of wind blows the pages to one side, managing to knock the notebook onto the ratty brown carpet. Steve doesn’t want to step on it or for it to get lost, so he picks it up. Now Steve never was one to get into Bucky’s business, despite teasing him about it an infinite amount of times. Today, though, was different. 

Steve plans to put it back on the table and situate it under something so the wind couldn’t blow it off the table again, but as he picks it up, he causes some of the detached bits to stick out. With his nimble fingers, he tugs on the loose dog-eared flap and reads the top. He reads variations of the header _‘Dear Stevie’_ written on each unsecured page. Steve is confused and hesitant to read them, but his interest is piqued.

Instead of tucking them back in and putting Bucky’s private journal away, Steve grabs the other three and heads over to the couch, tucking himself into the corner of the mismatched couch cushions. Reluctant to butt into Bucky’s privacy, he pulls out the first loose page of the already-open notebook. 

**  
  
**

**_October 23, 1939_ **

“Are you working on anything tonight, Steve? Because I was thinking, maybe we could go out for a drink tonight. Maybe that and a movie at the local theater? I heard that ‘Mr. Smith Goes to Washington’ is supposed to be doing well.” Bucky leans back in the busted recliner as he reads the newspaper. They had picked it up in the alley a few years before. At this point, the leg rest didn’t even go up anymore. However, their income was limited, and the majority was going into Steve’s medication, so they made do with what they could get their hands on.

Steve has the dim lamp turned on next to him to give him some light as he sketches. He could barely see without it. Without looking up from his drawing, Steve scrunches his eyebrows. “Hmm, can we really afford to be going out tonight, Buck? My new medicine bill just came in, and, weー” Bucky cuts him off before he can continue.

“Steve, hey. Stevie, don’t worry about it, pal. I know money’s tight right now, but I picked up another job at the docks last week. I can get us a little more on top of the cash from the grocery. Let’s treat ourselves tonight, alright?” Bucky folds up the newspaper and sets it aside. Walking over to the desk, he rests his hands on Steve’s shoulders and crouches down to within earshot. “I know you don’t always need my help, but I’ve got you, Stevie. I promise.”

Steve relaxes into Bucky’s comforting grip and sighs heavily. Putting his pencil down, he turns over his shoulder and gazes into Bucky’s gray-blue eyes, only a foot away from his own. “I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Bucky. It means a lot to me, you know. I think that we both need this.”

They both stay there momentarily before Bucky stands up and looks at Steve’s sketch in the low evening light. It’s a sketch of Bucky, resting on the chair from earlier. “That’s a pretty sketch you got there. What’s it for?” he questions with a smirk. Steve blushes beet-red and flips the cover shut. “I’m just trying some new shading techniques, and you were sitting there for an hour, so I figured you would be a good image to practice with,” he manages to get out.

“I’m just teasing you, man. Come on, let’s get ready to go. Do you need to change, or can we just get goin’?” Bucky tells him. Steve pushes out the wobbly chair and stands to meet Bucky’s chest. “Nah, I’m all set to go now. Let’s go.”

“Alright. What do you say, we hit the movies or the bar first?” Bucky asks while grabbing his small wallet. “How about we both get a drink first, and then we’ll go to the movie afterward? Is that okay?” Bucky lets out a chuckle. “Sounds great to me, Stevie.” Moving quickly, Bucky and Steve grab their jackets off the coat rack and head out into the brisk October night.

Bucky and Steve make their way down the Brooklyn streets, taking in the nightlife as they go. “Okay, Steve. Which bar do we wanna go to?” Bucky questions as he wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulder and tugs him closer. He pauses. “Well, actually, I guess you only just turned 21 a few months ago. Do you even know any?” Bucky winks at Steve and rustles his baggy coat as Steve grimaces. “Oh, pal, you know I’m just kidding. But seriously, we can go wherever you’d like.”

“How about we try out that new place down two blocks? It’s right next to the RKO theater,” Steve suggests. Bucky nods with a grin, and they continue their stroll. They were taking their time, but the next thing they knew, they were walking into The Dram Shop on 9th Street, a little bar that would be the perfect way to escape for the night.

“After you, punk,” Bucky offers as he holds the door for Steve, gesturing him inside. “Thank you, jerk,” Steve retorts lightheartedly, leading the way to two open seats at the bar. The lighting was dim inside, and the volume was loud, but nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed like it was a nice place. 

“Hey, bartender, can you open up a tab for us over here? We’re just going to do two rounds for him and three for me tonight,” Bucky calls as he lifts his arm, flicking at the wrist, to call the bartender over. The older man slides down the counter to stand in front of them with a towel slung over his shoulder. “Sure, son, what can I get for the two of you?”

After debating for a bit, Steve decides to go with the beer with the lowest amount of alcohol possible. He picks a Ballantine XXX Ale and hopes that his low weight would be able to handle it throughout the night. Bucky goes with the Ballantine India Ale, happy to take something a bit stronger. 

The bartender disappears momentarily but soon comes back with their mugs. “Here you go, boys. Will that be all?” Steve nods as he replies, “yes, sir, thank you.” With that, Bucky and Steve get started on their beers.

“Now, don’t drink that too fast, Stevie. I know you like to think you’re invincible, but I gotta take you to the movies after this,” Bucky laughs as he knocks his head back, taking another sip. Steve giggles but tries to convince Bucky he’s alright with a “no, no, Buck. I promise you I’ll be fine. I swear.”

Bucky and Steve spend the next hour giggling and laughing like idiots, becoming just like everyone else in the crowded bar. “Steve, I thought we said we _weren’t_ gonna get too drunk tonight. Look at us!” Bucky cries. Steve had already finished his two 12 oz beers, Bucky now on his third. “I know, I know. But once you start, Buck, can you ever stop? And honestly, I think that we needed this. Are we still gonna be up for the movie?” 

“Yeah, yeah, a’ course we are Stevie. We’re _fine_. I think you’re gonna have to take care of me now, though,” Bucky slurs out in a jumbled mess. As he takes his last sip, white foam catches on his upper lip. “Hey, ya’ got a little something there on your face. Need me to get it?” Steve questions with a titter. “Oh no, do I? Wipe it off for me, please.” Steve reaches his thumb to meet Bucky’s lip, Bucky’s eyes going cross-eyed as he follows Steve’s hand. 

Steve can’t help but giggle at Bucky’s endearing antics as he wraps his hand around his waist, doubled over in laughter. “Don’t do that!” “Do what?” Bucky asks innocently. Narrowing his eyes, Steve responds with a “you know _exactly_ what.” Bucky gives a small shrug, and Steve finally wipes away the foam from Bucky’s mouth. “Thank you,” Bucky says matter-of-factly, to which Steve gives a roll of his eyes.

As if they shared the same brain, both Bucky and Steve leaned their elbow onto the counter of the bar and let out a deep sigh. With that, there’s a pause, and then two snorts of laughter from them both at the same time. Even though there was the same type of drunken hysterics all around them, Bucky and Steve felt like they were in their own little bubble, drowning out everything around them.

They stay there, sitting at the bar for a while, but they begin to hear things dying down. Steve checks his watch and sees that it reads 8:53. “The movie starts in 7 minutes, let’s go!” Steve cries. Bucky whips out his wallet and drops the necessary change onto the counter, along with a small tip. Bucky really shouldn’t with the income he had, but he felt like he needed to. “Thank you, sir!” Bucky shouts as Steve drags him out, nearly tripping over his own feet with each step.

While trying to dodge other pedestrians on the busy sidewalk, Steve hastily pulls Bucky down the street and into the RKO Prospect Theatre. “Come on, come on! We still gotta get tickets and a small popcorn to share,” he exclaims giddily, loopy from the small amount of alcohol he had. 

Once they get into the theatre with their movie snack, Bucky and Steve hurry to two empty seats in the back. They figured that was the smartest idea considering the state they were in. As the pre-movie commercials roll, Bucky turns to Steve and asks, “so, do you think Mr. Smith will like going to Washington?” They stare at each other, still for a moment. With the straightest face possible, Steve responds with a, “Nah, I think he’d like Vermont better.” Bucky breaks the stare, and his hand flies to his mouth, muffling his snickers. 

“Shh, shh. You’re gonna distract the moviegoers, Buck. And look, the movie’s starting,” Steve whispers as he munches on the buttered popcorn. Steve _despised_ it when someone talked during a movie. Well, he typically did, at least. 

For nearly the entire film, Bucky and Steve were commenting on the movie, making fun of something someone did here or something they said there. If they hadn’t hidden into a little corner in the back of the theater, all that would be heard is stifled laughter and quietly muttered remarks.

Throughout the movie, Bucky and Steve took turns reaching into their shared popcorn bag, each pulling out a few popped kernels at a time. Towards the end, they ran low, but they made it last. That’s what they were used to. Steve sticks his hand into the depths of the bag, searching for any more pieces. Bucky has the same idea as he reaches his hand in, hitting Steve’s. 

“Oh, sorry, Bucky,” Steve starts, starting to pull his hand out from the bag. Bucky stops him by grabbing his wrist abruptly. “Hey,” he whispers, moving his second hand to cup Steve’s open hand. “ _I’m_ sorry. And thank you for tonight, Stevie. I _truly_ mean that. I had a blast. And that’s not the booze talking.”

Steve’s mouth opens slightly as if in the middle of a word. He doesn’t know what to answer. “I think I should be thanking you, Buck. You made this entire thing happen. I can’t express my thanks enough. Really.”

And with the end of Steve’s sentence, the end credits roll. Bucky seems to snap back to reality, staring at his own hands still lingering on Steve’s. “Oh my God, Iー I’m sorry,” Bucky stammers, yanking his hands away and placing them in his pockets. Steve holds his hands up defensively, feeling guilty for making Bucky feel bad. “No, no, Buck, don’t be sorry. It’s fine, pal. C’mon, let’s head out of here. Everyone’s already up and left.”

With that, Bucky nods timidly but grabs their stuff to head out. They take their time strolling home, making lighthearted jokes at one another and laughing a ton. When they get home that night, even though it’s nearly midnight, Bucky and Steve take out their journal and sketchpad to get to work for a bit.

**  
  
**

**_August 13, 1940 (present-day)_ **

**_"You know, Steve, I don't know what part of my brain told me to hold your hand like that on our movie night tonight. It was instinctual, I think. A reflex. Like a mother caring for her young. It’s just in their blood; they can’t control it. Something in my brain tells me to hold you, Stevie. Hold and keep you real close to me, to protect you and your bright energy. Everything about you resonates happiness, Steve, and I want all of the peace and joy in your mind. You know, that’s all I can see in you: a ray of light. People see you as a little ball of angry fire, Stevie, but not me. Not entirely, I mean. Because you are a ball of fire, Steve, but only because you’re as radiant and happy as the sun.”_ **

Steve can’t help but hold his breath as he turns from the pages he just read. **_“Why would he address these to me if I was never supposed to see them?”_** Steve wonders, genuinely baffled. And how was Bucky able to bring him right back to that moment in October of 1939, just through his writing? Even though Steve read through a short description of their entire night, he gets hung up on that last paragraph. What did Bucky mean by a ray of light? Even Steve found himself down about a lot of things, never getting his hopes up for anything. He knew that they most likely were never going to happen anyway.

And why did Bucky say he had this “reflex” to hold Steve close to him? He always appreciated Bucky’s help, but he knew he could get things done on his own if he ever needed to. Steve did his best to take everything in that he could so far. He was nowhere near done. If anything, Bucky’s writing had just drawn Steve in more.

Steve pulls out another notebook from the stack, hoping to find some older memories in this one. This one has even more loose pages sticking out for Steve to read through. As he slides out the next folded page, he sees the date ‘May 29, 1930.’ **_“What did we get into this time?”_ **

**  
  
**

**_May 29, 1930_ **

“Boys! It’s time for lunch. Come get your spaghetti!” Mrs. Barnes called from the kitchen. Both Steve and Bucky are situated at the table and working on their homework for school when they hear her beckoning them. “Alright, mom, we’ll be there in a moment!” Bucky shouts in reply. After finishing his final math problem, Bucky slides his seat in and pushes his papers aside, stacking his journal on top of it. “C’mon, Steve, let’s go get lunch.”

Pulling two bowls from the cabinet, Winifred sets them on the counter. She opens the can of Franco-American spaghetti and splits it evenly between the bowls. “I’m sorry that it’s cold, boys, and I wish I could have made something better. It’s all we could get for you today,” she says, feeling responsible for their less-than-stellar meal, even though she had no control over it. The depression was hitting them hard, and the Barnes family was better off than many other families in their neighborhood. 

“It’s alright, Mrs. Barnes. Really. Trust me, the food we got at home isn’t as good as it is here,” Steve promises. Bucky is quick to follow with a “yeah, mom. Please don’t feel bad. We understand, and it still tastes pretty good.” Bucky thought back to his old Christmases with the heavenly puff pancake. He sure did miss that right about now. 

“Thank you, boys,” Winifred says with a smile. “Now, I’m going to let you two finish your lunch, then I want you to get back to your homework. Alright? I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” The boys both nod, and she heads towards their bedroom. 

Bucky and Steve quickly eat their meals, and as soon as they finish, they stack their bowls by the sink. After they make their way back to the table, Bucky pulls out his journal and starts to write. Steve’s jaw drops in disbelief as he looks at Bucky, focused on his scribbling. “I don’t know how you do it, Buck. How are you so smart? You finished your math homework in 20 minutes!” 

Lifting only his eyes to stare at Steve, Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment. He drops them back down to his paper and explains nonchalantly, “I don’t know. I just try to pay attention in class. Why? Do you need any help?” Steve responds with a quick ‘Nah,’ and gets back to work. He can’t help but peek up at Bucky’s focused face every now and then. He flicks his eyes to the tip of Bucky’s tongue that’s stuck out, along with his adorably scrunched eyebrows, nose, and all.

“Whatcha’ got in that notebook, Buck? Anything for me?” Steve asks playfully after some time. Bucky immediately whips his head up and blushes as he meekly gets out a “n-no, of course not, Stevie.” He is careful to shut his notebook. Steve gives Bucky a disbelieving hum but brushes it off and gets back to working on his homework.

For Bucky and Steve, hearing a bit of noise outside their families’ apartments was nothing abnormal. Brooklyn was always busy, so loud volume was typical. Today, however, there seemed to be a little more than usual. “Buck, do you hear that? It sounds like shouting outside. I’ve been hearing it for a few minutes,” Steve inquires with a furrowed brow. Bucky puts down his pencil and flips the cover of his journal shut. “I haven’t heard anything,” he replies, but he listens anyway. Steve’s hearing was terrible, but that couldn’t stop him from hearing a fight. It was as if he had a sixth sense.

“Bucky, I think it’s a fight! We need to go break it up!” Steve declares. Bucky tries not to but rolls his eyes, knowing what’s about to happen. “Steve. There are fights in Brooklyn every day. You don’t always need to be the hero, you know. You’re not fit to stop them all the time! Just last week, you got a black eye from that kid in the park!” Bucky snaps back. Steve gives his signature puppy-dog eyes to Bucky, begging without saying a word. Bucky looks back down at his notebook, reluctant to look into his sweet eyes. “No.”

“Come _on_ , Bucky! We have to stop it! Please!” Steve pleads. “Steve, I can’t go finish _another_ fight for you! We always know how it ends,” Bucky explains, feeling guilty now for denying Steve. He knew it was the right thing to do. Bucky breathes deeply, eyes closed, but finally agrees. “Fine, we can go. But you _better_ be careful, I swear. I’m staying right behind you, okay, pal?”

With that, Steve’s eyes light up. He balls his tiny hands into fists and punches the air. “Thank you, Bucky! Let’s go,” he begins, but Bucky stops him. “One sec. Hey mom, can we go outside for a bit?” he shouts, reaching into his mother’s room. “As long as you promise not to get into any trouble!” is her response. Steve and Bucky pull on their worn-out shoes as Bucky calls back, “We’ll try, mom!” As quickly as possible, they grab their jackets and slip them on. “No promises, Mrs. Barnes, but thank you!” Steve exclaims as he flies down the apartment staircase, practically skipping over every other stair he took.

The boys rush outside, following the noise as best they can. Shouting and insults seem to be coming from around the corner of their building. “I think it’s this way,” Bucky whispers, leading them towards the alley. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I don’t know ifー” he starts, but as he looks over his shoulder, Steve isn’t there. He’s already running into the heart of it.

“Hey! You let him go!” Steve rebukes, his fists balled, and his face a scowl. Three larger teenage boys were holding a younger boy who was twiggy like Steve. He was being held by two of them, while one was getting ready to punch him. The boy was shaking, his knees trembling and panic in his eyes. 

After hearing Steve, the three boys stop what they’re doing and turn to him. “What’re you gonna do about it, huh? A little guy like him? Think you can stop us?” the leader taunts. Steve wasn’t having any of it. Bucky begins to peek out from behind the wall, preparing to step in. Steve would be angry at Bucky if he tried to help any sooner. He was stupid like that.

“I can do this all day,” Steve hisses. He runs at the leader and throws a weak punch. He stops Steve’s momentum with a grab of his fist, and the boy punches Steve in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. Bucky runs into the alley, trying to take care of the younger boy as soon as possible. He couldn’t help Steve yet without getting yelled at, even though he desperately wanted to.

Bucky comes from behind, delivering two forceful kicks to the backs of the other two boys in the group. As they tumble over, Bucky takes a quick look at Steve. He’s taking it, but he can’t for much longer. **_“C’mon pal, get up. You’ve got this. I’ll be there in a moment.”_ **

The young boy was let go and stayed on the ground as Bucky scared off the other guys. “Hey kid, are you alright? I’ve got you,” he comforted, and he reached out his hand to pull him up. The kid simply nods, still shaking, but starts to run home. Bucky gives him a small smile as the kid looks over his shoulder right before he turns the corner, signaling that he’s got it. The boy pauses but eventually keeps running.

 **_“Steve,”_ ** Bucky worries to himself. He sprints over to the leader as he screams, “Hey, you! Pick on someone your own size!” He throws a brutally strong jab to his jaw, knocking the boy sideways and sending him tumbling towards the dumpster. He looks on the ground to Steve curled in a ball, bloodied and bruised. 

Bucky stops in his tracks. He wants to make sure that the boy stays away from him and Steve, but Stevie needs help. As he crouches next to Steve and sits with him, he hears a voice from the boy. “Yeah, go and call your little prince to save ya’.” Steve stays curled in a ball: he didn’t hear him say it. What the boy says next is something that only Bucky tunes into. It’s something that stays with Bucky forever. “Okay, why don’t you go on and stay there. Go ahead and kiss, ya’ fairies.”

The boy’s insult shakes Bucky, terrifies him, but Steve helps him refocus his energy. Steve rolls onto his back with a grunt. “Hey, hey, hey, careful, careful Stevie. What were you doing out there! We didn’t even have a plan,” Bucky coos, still kneeling next to him. Bucky cranes his neck, looking around the area. The last boy must have run out of the alley. Serves him right for hurting his Stevie.

“You know I couldn’t leave that boy with them. He could’ve gotten hurt!” Steve insists, coughing. “Yeah, but you took it for him instead, Stevie. I can’t _stand_ when you do this, you know. I know you want to help, but you make me panic. Imagine what could have happened if he had gotten one more kick or punch in, Steve, huh? What could have happened to you?” Bucky whispered, guilt and fear rushing over him. He should have stepped in sooner. 

Bucky pushes Steve’s now tousled hair out of his crystal clear blue eyes, in contrast with his bloody and already bruising cheeks. In the dim light of the alley and with a dirty, scuffed-up face, Steve’s eyes looked even more piercing. “Let’s go, Steve. I’m carrying you, and you can't convince me otherwise.” Steve nods and reaches up for Bucky’s powerful grip. 

As they trudge into the house, they avoid Bucky’s parents at all costs. “Our parents are gonna kill us, y’know. What are we going to tell them, hmm? It wasn’t my bright idea,” Bucky states as he grabs a rag to wet it. He leans down to Steve, who’s sitting on the edge of the tub, his purple eye starting to swell, and his lip busted open. “Oh, Stevie, look what they did to you,” Bucky soothes, carefully smoothing the cloth all over the blood crusting over on his cheeks and mouth. “I am _so_ sorry that I didn’t step in sooner, pal.”

“No, no. It’s alright, Buck. Trust me. I’ll be _fine_. I know that I needed to help that kid out. He couldn’t do it himself,” Steve promises. Bucky looks at him with disappointed yet understanding eyes. “I, I know, it’s just… you shouldn’t feel like you need to run into a fight to prove your worth. I know multiple people who think you’re worth so much.”

Steve furrows his brow, confused. “Like who?” he mumbles through a swollen lip. Bucky answers as confidently but as reassuring as he can. “Me.” Steve just stares at him for a moment with wide eyes. “Well, obviously you do, Buck. I think you’re worth a lot too. You’re the best friend I’ve got,” Steve chuckles, breaking the tension.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Bucky manages with a sullen pout. “Hey, I’ve got a question for you. How can’t you hate those big guys? They are _awful_ to you.” Steve takes a moment to think as Bucky continues to clean and bandage him up. “I don’t _hate_ ‘em. They just shouldn’t be trying to gain power over someone else’s weakness. I can’t do much, but I try to step in where I can. I don’t like bullies, Buck,” he concludes.

With a last gentle pat and a faint smile, Bucky sends Steve back to his apartment with his mom. They managed to avoid his parents from seeing Steve’s poor condition, and Sarah figured she knew what mess they had gotten into this time. Bucky wishes Steve a good night and heads back to his house. That night, Bucky pulls out his journal and gets out his bottled-up emotions from a tiring evening.

**  
  
**

**_August 13, 1940 (present-day)_ **

**_“You know, Stevie, everything about you pains my envying. I can’t help but be jealous of you. You probably think I’m crazy. Hell, sometimes, even I think I’m crazy. Your soul can't hate anything. At least, not really. You can’t even hate the goddamn people that try to harm you. You just want to save the people who need it. Today, Stevie, that boy said something to us that only I could hear at the time. It frightened me, Steve, and that’s the truth. I think I’m screwed-up on the inside, real corrupt and dark. I can’t help but hate anyone who tries to hurt you, Stevie. I am just a selfish fool who wants you safe and protected, close to me. I think that I have something deep inside of me, something I don’t even completely understand. A feeling of wanting more, needing more from you to give to me. I try to hide it, but it’s so fucking difficult sometimes. Impossible even. And I thank my lucky stars that when I do slip up, you’re too blind to see it.”_ **

**_“What the hell?”_ ** Steve panics as he reads. He skims over the last paragraph multiple times, trying to understand what Bucky was telling him. 

After re-reading it almost five times, Steve decides that he needs to take a breather. He’s already hung up on the last line from the previous entry, but this one resonated with him even more. Yet again, Bucky brought him back to that day, right to when they were teens and stopping their homework so they could help a younger kid out. 

Steve hadn’t noticed it that day, but looking back, he realizes that Bucky _was_ acting strange that day. Bucky was right. He really _was_ blind. And what hit him more is that Steve didn’t know where those feelings were coming from, or when they started. Did Steve sense this same idea of wanting - no, needing - more from Bucky, something to give to Steve? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t _think_ he did. Steve loves Bucky, and he needs him, but he doesn’t reciprocate the feelings he thinks Bucky has about him. He couldn’t. _Could_ he?

Regardless of anything that Steve was feeling, he knew he wanted to dig deeper into the way Bucky felt. As he passes through the notebooks, a section with red folded tabs catches his eye. **_“I shouldn’t…”_ ** Steve tries to convince himself not to read it. These parts must be important. But despite his efforts, he finds himself opening the page labeled with the date ‘January 8, 1938,’ taking his time to read what was inside.

**  
  
**

**_January 1938_ **

The winter was cold. It usually was in Brooklyn, but this year was different. It was longer than usual, longer than ever for Bucky. It dragged on for him, and he was filled continuously with anxiety and dread. It felt as if his heart was slowly being filled with water, freezing over more with every minute. Every day that he stood by their bedside, he felt the frozen air chilling his soul from the inside-out.

Pneumonia was going around their neighborhood right now, which was bad enough on its own. But with Steve’s pre-existing ailments _and_ the cold weather, he was screwed. Bucky remembered the first day Steve’s cough set in; his heart dropped. People around town had been getting deathly ill, and it was even taking lives. He was terrified of what that meant for them.

“I’m _fine_ , Bucky. I swear to God,” Steve insists while placing his right hand on his heart. “Steve,” Bucky says sternly. “We need to be careful this season. People are dying, Stevie. And I know you’re strong-willed, but I don’t think that will get you through this one. Please, Steve.” 

That month, Bucky spends the last of his cash on getting as many quilts and blankets as he can find to keep Steve warm. He couldn’t have Steve getting anything more than a cough. Every night, Bucky tucks Steve in as tight as possible, making sure that he would stay warm. “Good night, Stevie. I love ya’, pal,” he whispered every single night with a small kiss on his forehead. He didn’t typically, but he needed Steve to know that this season.

Regardless of all the blankets and occasional glasses of orange juice (Bucky tried to get a quart when he could: Steve needed all the vitamin C he could get), weeks pass, and he gets sicker. With every passing day, Steve gets a junkier cough, a higher fever, and more chills. **_“It’s so hard to breathe,”_ ** Steve thinks to himself, but there is no way he will say anything to Bucky. Despite Steve’s efforts to hide his illness, Bucky knows better.

“I’m calling the doctor, get in bed. Now,” Bucky urges as he dials the number. Beads of sweat drip down Steve’s face as he lies down. At this point, Steve could barely breathe, wheezing, and almost always needing to rest. “I’m sorry, Bucky,” he whispers, his chest making a raspy noise as he does. 

Bucky immediately covers his hand over the telephone and looks to the resting blonde, sweat pooling on his forehead and making his hair stick together in pieces. “Hey, hey. It’s alright. Don’t feel sorry, Stevie. We’re gonna get you better, alright?” This time Steve doesn’t respond, so Bucky dials each number faster, each one with more force. “C’mon, c’mon,” Bucky mutters under his breath. “Pick up, pick _up_.” 

After Bucky requests an urgent house call from the doctor and hangs up the phone, he begins to pace. Steve was resting now, at least. But he was getting so much worse. Bucky decides to wet a facecloth with cold water to put it on Steve’s forehead, hoping to bring down the fever. Even if it doesn’t do much, it’s a start.

Bucky is draped over Steve on the bed, holding onto him tightly, when the doctor knocks on the apartment door. “Just a second, sir!” Bucky places a kiss on the face cloth as he reassures Steve. “You’re gonna be okay, pal. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Part of him thinks that he just told Steve that to reassure himself. 

As Bucky opens the door, a man in a white coat and a black bag comes walking in. “Hello sir, he’s right in there. Thank you so much for coming,” Bucky blurts, hoping to God that Steve will be alright. The doctor nods and walks over to Steve, not saying a word. Bucky wants to know what’s happening, but he knows better than to butt in. He decides to pace around the kitchen while he waits dreadfully for the outcome.

A long 30 minutes go by, although, to Bucky, it felt like three days. “Mr. Barnes? I’d like to talk with you,” he calls from the bedroom. Bucky’s heart drops. **_“Shit.”_** He makes his way out of the kitchen with trepidation and meets the doctor in the hallway, out of Steve’s earshot. “Is he going to be fine?” Bucky begs, needing to get answers.

“I am honestly… not sure. Your friend here has one of the worst cases I’ve seen this season. I have a medication here that might help, but it’s expensive, and there’s no promise it will work,” he explains with a solemn expression. Bucky takes a shuddering breath, trying his best to hold back his tears from escaping. God, he wanted to cry right now. 

Bucky simply asks, “can I take a moment to think about it? I want to talk with Steve first.” The doctor scrunches his brow, confused because he knew full-well Steve was not awake to talk to him, but agrees and waits in the kitchen. “Thank you, sir,” Bucky says with a wry smile as he walks into their room.

When he gets in there, all Bucky wants to do is wrap himself and Steve up in the quilts, protected from the world, and where no one could hurt them. He settles for a tight hug as he kneels on the floor next to the bed. “Stevie…” is all Bucky can manage, even though he has so much more he wants to say. 

“Steve, we are going to get through this. _You_ are going to get through this, alright? The doctor has a medicine that will be expensive and has no promises of working, but I am getting it from him. I don’t fucking care if it cost me a leg, I would give everything I have for you. Sometimes, that’s not a good thing, but you are _worth_ any struggle. And _when_ you wake up, I don’t want to hear _any_ complaints from you about money. Okay, Stevie? You are not leaving me, pal. I won’t let you because I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.” 

There is no response, but Bucky doesn’t need one. He lets out a few silent tears but quickly wipes them away to get the medicine from the doctor. “Thank you again, sir,” Bucky forces out as kindly as he can, aiding the doctor out of his apartment. As soon as the door closes, though, he breaks down.

With his back flush up against the wall, he collapses to the floor. His head falls into his crossed arms, leaning on his knees. His entire body tremors from his sobs, holding up all of the weight from guilt and responsibility. **_“I should have tried harder. I didn’t do enough for him, and now he’s in a matter of life and death because of me,”_ ** he convinces himself as he bawls. 

Bucky tries to let out all that he can before standing again. He cries until he feels he has no tears left to give, as if Bucky let go of so many emotions that he forgot what they were entirely. He stands, still shaking and knees wobbly, but makes his way into the bathroom. He stares at his own red, puffy eyes in the mirror, the tears making his blue eyes appear glassy. He felt as if he was just an empty shell without Steve there.

After staying there for a moment, he rubs his wet eyes and peeks in at Steve again. He sees a sleeping mass, tucked into the quilts. Bucky’s eyes light up for a moment, and he smiles as if he forgot the situation Steve was in. **_“When did I get so sensitive for Steve?”_ ** Bucky ponders, pulling himself back into the moment. 

That night, Bucky stays up late with the dim light of the lamp and his journal to keep him company. He missed his nights with Steve, Bucky laying back in the broken recliner and reading or writing, with Steve drawing in his sketchbook. Steve had been getting more ill with every passing day, so he hadn’t been up to staying up late for a while now. 

Bucky tries to clear his mind with some writing, but he can’t tonight. He manages to write a few of his thoughts and questions from earlier, but that’s all he can do. That’s when he notices it. He looks up from his journal, and Steve’s sketchbook pile is just sitting there. **_“I shouldn’t,”_ ** Bucky tells himself. He attempts to get back to writing, but nothing. **_“Aw, fuck it. He can’t mind too much, can he? I just need something from Stevie.”_ **

As he slides his belongings out of the way, Bucky pulls Steve’s sketchbook towards him. He opens the brown cover to see multiple sketches, but only of one thing. That one thing was himself. Bucky was there on nearly every page doing almost every mundane activity possible. Even so, every drawing was so delicate and detailed. Bucky’s mouth gapes open partly in awe and partly in confusion as he looks at each one. Steve must have really wanted to improve his portraits. Since he hated drawing himself, Bucky was the next best option. 

With that thought, Bucky feels a bit of pride rush to his head. Steve would want to draw _him_ , and more than Steve let on? He knew perfectly well that Steve had drawn Bucky a few times, but he had always said it was for ‘practice.’ Something in Bucky told him he didn’t want to believe Steve needed that much practice. He was already so talented. 

Bucky flips to the next page, this one a bit different from the others. This one only had one picture of Bucky, but it was up close this time. Everything had been colored in on this one too, except for one thing: the irises of his eyes. Bucky looks to the margins of the page to see a note written by Steve.

_“Try to capture all the unique grays and blues in Bucky’s beautiful eyes. They’re really somethin’ special. I can never get them just right. I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong, and I’ve even been staring extra long when I can to try to remember. Try different color combinations on another page: they need to be_ **_perfect_** _.”_

Why was Steve so insistent on getting the shades of Bucky’s eyes just so? It couldn’t be that important to him. Why should it be? As far as Bucky was concerned, Steve wasn’t even going to let him see it. If anything, these drawings were all for Steve. And Bucky was 99% sure that getting the colors right on one person’s uniquely-colored eyes was considered as practice.

Bucky drives that note into his mind multiple times as he pulls out his notebook. After looking at a few of Steve’s artistic pieces, he felt inspired and comfortable enough to write again. So that’s what he did for the rest of the night.

_“You know, Stevie, I’ve always loved space. Sometimes when I look at you, I can picture little constellations in all your freckles. I think God knew you were brighter than a thousand stars, so he put a light sprinkling of them on your cheeks and a few extra on the bridge of your nose. Just to remind us of how much you shine and so we could always have a little light in our lives. And now that you’re not with me, I feel like my world has gone dark. My sun is gone. Without you, Stevie, I am just a dark, twisted, empty shell. I need your light again to make me whole.”_

From that night on and until Steve woke up fully, Bucky spent every night analyzing a few of Steve’s drawings and writing some of his own notes about it. Whether that be an entire page of paragraphs or just an ‘I miss you, Stevie,’ he kept a record in his journal. It helped him cope through the long winter.

Weeks pass, each one feeling a little bit shorter than the last. Bucky felt his icy heart thawing with every passing day. The medicine was working, slowly but surely. And Steve’s persistence to fight off the pneumonia was really making all the difference. Each day, Bucky heard fewer coughs and wheezes, which lifted his spirits. The day that Steve was finally up and moving around is one that Bucky could never forget.

“Hey, jerk,” Steve calls, walking into the small living room area. Slowly, but walking nonetheless. Bucky drops everything immediately and whips his head towards the bedroom, in disbelief of what he heard. “Steve?!” Bucky cries, flying up and body slamming into him. Steve lets out a gasp as he trips backward a little. “Woah, watch it! I’m still not 100%, you know,” he gets out with a laugh. 

“Oh, Stevie, I’m so sorry,” Bucky begins. He pulls Steve into a hug, crouching down slightly to meet him better. “I’ve missed you,” he soothes, his eyes welling up. Before Bucky can continue with his waterworks, Steve pulls back. “Hey, you didn’t think you could get rid of me _that_ easily, did ya’? I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal.”

Bucky chuckles a little as he answers, “I know, punk. I love you, Stevie, and I’m _so_ glad you’re back.” He yanks Steve into a side hug, and they both spend the rest of their day together. That night, they were able to get back into their usual routine: Bucky writing, Steve drawing, and the yellow glow of the lamp covering the room.

As Bucky flips back a few pages in his notebook, he decides that he wants to revisit his notes he wrote while Steve was recovering, instead of writing something entirely new. On the first page from the red-tabbed section, he reads one of the questions he wrote for himself the night the doctor came. When _did_ Bucky become so sensitive for Steve? 

He didn’t know if it was seeing all of Steve’s sketches in these past few weeks that did it for him or if it was seeing Steve’s face smiling again finally, but suddenly, everything clicked. That deep, dark, corrupted feeling Bucky had been feeling for so long in his soul ultimately had found its place. 

**James Buchanan Barnes was** ** _in_** **_love_** **with Steven Rogers, and more than he originally planned for.**

**  
  
**

**_August 13, 1940 (present-day)_ **

**_“You know Steve, for the longest time, I thought I was crazy. I felt things that I couldn’t explain to you, or even to myself. The best I could do was write them down and hope to understand them later on. After these long few months, I think I finally understand it now. You enthrall me, Stevie. Everything about you is so easy to love. It’s like an addiction: you make me whole, and I can’t get enough of you. And I’ll be honest, Steve. I broke down without you here. I can’t picture myself living without you. But you know, I think they’re watching you from above. They knew that your time wasn’t meant to be up. You can never give up, Stevie. You just don’t know when to quit. But you know, I can’t even hate you for that. If anything, it makes me even more goddamn in love with you. These past few months were nearly impossible for me, Steve, but you pushed me through. And for the longest time, I didn’t think that you felt the same twisted way I felt about you. But after seeing your drawings, Stevie, I can’t help but have a sliver of hope that you do.”_ **

Steve closes the notebook, his heart rate quickened. Steve has never thought about Bucky in the way that Bucky has apparently thought about him. At least that’s what he told himself at first. **_“There’s no way.”_ **

He opens up the notebook again, going through all the entries from Bucky, all of Steve’s descriptions through Bucky’s eyes. **_“Have I noticed these kinds of things about Bucky before?”_** Steve wonders. Then he realizes what he needs to do. 

Hopping off the couch, Steve pulls out one of his many sketchpads from underneath the bed. He flips open the worn cover, knowing full-well what was going to be there. Each page was chock-full of sketches of Bucky, doing anything from staring off into the sunset while sitting on their fire escape to cooking dinner on the stove for them. Steve realizes that he always sat idly by, examining Bucky and recognizing every intimate detail of him, no matter what he was doing. He wanted to have a part of Bucky with him at all times; he wanted to acknowledge every little intimacy and perfect it through his work.

Steve sits on the couch, comparing the nuances in his drawings of Bucky to the details Bucky wrote about Steve, and that’s when it clicks in his mind. **_“If Bucky is saying that feeling this way about me means he loves me, then I must love Bucky. And as more than just a friend.”_**

 **_“Holy hell,”_ ** Steve says to himself under his breath. **_“Do I really?”_ ** To figure it out, Steve continues to go through every single page multiple times. He reads everything and, in doing so, he learns things about himself that he didn’t even notice. Bucky had to have been paying exceedingly close attention to him over the years.

 **_“How far does this go back?”_ ** Steve wonders. Although he had just started with the loose pages, he decides to turn through every page, skimming through everything that Bucky had written about Steve. He comes to the beginning of the first journal. _July 4th, 1927. Steve’s 9th birthday._

**  
  
**

**_July 4th, 1927_ **

It was always an early start for Bucky on the fourth of July. Every year since he turned six, he went to Steve’s apartment, while he was still sleeping, to help Mrs. Rogers to make the birthday cake for Steve. By the time they had finished icing it, Steve would wake up, and Bucky would hang out with him until Sarah could get everything set up. This year was no different.

“Hello, Ms. Sarah? I’m here!” Bucky exclaims as he knocks on the door, waiting excitedly to be let in. He bounces on his toes until Ms. Rogers comes to greet him. “Hi, honey! Are you ready to bake?” “Yes!” he shouts, full of exhilaration. Bucky was lucky that Steve was such a heavy sleeper. Sarah lets Bucky into the kitchen, and she begins to prepare the ingredients. “I think that we can make Steve a vanilla cake. How does that sound?” 

Bucky responds with a “that sounds perfect, Ms. Sarah,” grinning widely. She giggles and starts to measure out the flour and sugar while Bucky washes his hands. “Bucky, may you get me three eggs, the buttermilk, and some butter from the fridge, as well as some vanilla from the pantry?” Bucky obliges happily and places them on the counter, waiting for his next set of instructions. 

Sarah has Bucky mix the dry ingredients together in a separate bowl while she begins on the wet ingredients. As Bucky pours the cups of flour into the bowl, he accidentally causes an enormous dust cloud to fly up in his face. “Whoops. I’m sorry, Ms. Sarah. I promise I didn’t lose too much!” he explains as he wipes away the powder from his face and hair. Sarah only smirks as she reassures him, “oh, Bucky. It’s alright, honey. The cake will be perfect, don’t you worry.”

Bucky’s smile gleams as he carefully whisks the dry ingredients together. With Mrs. Rogers’s hands guiding his own, they fold everything together with the spatula. He observes her as she pours the mixture into the pans. Once she finishes, she asks, “would you like to put these in the oven Bucky?” “Yes, please!” is his response. 

Cautiously, he uses the oven mitts to put the pans in the oven and shuts the door. Sarah invites him to the table and offers him breakfast since he hadn’t gotten the chance to eat before he left. The clock read 10:00 a.m. now. It had taken them a bit longer than they expected, but they had all day, so it was alright. “May I have some cereal, and maybe an apple juice please?” 

Sarah poured Bucky some Kellogg’s cereal into a bowl and gave him the milk glass to pour some in. She then pours him a cup of apple juice. “Here you go, sweetie. I’m sorry that it’s a little bit late.” “It’s no problem at all, Ms. Sarah. Really. Thank you,” he says before he begins to eat.

Twenty-five minutes later, the timer on the counter dings. “Oh, look, Bucky! The cake should be ready now,” Sarah declares, putting the oven mitts on. Bucky’s eyes widen, and he runs to the counter, following the pans as she takes them out. 

“Now, we just have to wait for them to cool: did you bring something to do while we wait? It shouldn’t take too long,” she inquires as she moves them to the cooling rack. Bucky nods: he always has his journal on him. He sits at the table as she finishes making the icing and begins to write until Sarah told him they were ready to start. She starts by covering the entire cake in white but has Bucky handle the decorating.

“Can I write ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ in the red icing, please?” Bucky pleads, bright blue eyes shining and eager to help. “Of course, Bucky. And if you want, you can pipe a border around the edge.” Bucky stands up on the stepstool and takes the icing bag from Ms. Rogers. With shaky hands, he writes out the phrase ‘Happy 9th Birthday Stevie!’ in red icing on the top of the white iced cake, and pipes a border around it all in blue. Bucky takes a step back to admire his work. When he sees the outcome, he’s a little disappointed.

“I am _so_ sorry, Ms. Sarah,” Bucky apologizes as he hands the bag back to her with a small frown. “It’s all crooked. I don’t got as steady hands as Steve does.” Sarah places the bag down, and with a clean hand, ruffles the young boy’s still flour-dusted hair with a smile. “Oh, Bucky. Don’t be upset, sweetie. Steve will love anything you make for him. He loves you, you know,” she reassures him. Bucky looks back at her with hopeful eyes. 

“Thank you, Ms. Sarah. Am I okay to go hang out with Steve now? I promise I’ll keep him out of trouble,” he asks. “Go ahead, Bucky. May you bring him here in 30 minutes? I just need to finish up lunch, and then we can have cake and open gifts,” she answers. Bucky nods with his tilted smile and runs to Steve’s bedroom.

As Bucky heads back to Steve’s room, he thinks about what Ms. Sarah had told him. Steve loved him? Well, of course he did, as a friend, and like a brother. Bucky loved him too. Without giving it too much thought, he decided to brush it off and focus on Steve. It was his birthday, after all. 

Bucky heads into Steve’s room to see him working on a drawing. “Hey, Stevie! Happy birthday!” Bucky shouts, full of glee. “Buck? I didn’t know you were coming over today,” he states, baffled. Bucky tackles Steve into a bear hug as he whispers, “happy birthday, pal. I love you.” Steve throws his arms around Bucky’s back, closing his eyes with content and sighing heavily. “Thank you so much, Bucky. I love you too.”

They stay there for a moment, but Bucky pulls away first to explain why he was here. “I asked your mom if I could surprise you this morning, so she said I could come over earlier.” Steve nods slowly but smiles. “Hey, wait. Bucky, what is that you got on your nose? And in your hair? It looks like dust or something.” 

Bucky’s eyes go wide, realizing that he hadn’t checked to see if he had gotten the rest of the flour off of his face and out of his hair. “Uhh,” he stammers, “my mom, Becca, and I made pancakes this morning, and I, umm, I spilled some flour. It got _everywhere_.” Steve snorts and starts laughing. “Really? You’re such a klutz, Buck!” Bucky rubs the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. The same thing had happened, but he didn’t want to spoil the real reason he was here this early. 

“Can you get it for me, please?” Bucky questions since he couldn’t see it. “Sure thing, Bucky.” He steps closer to Bucky and places his hand on his shoulder. Rising to his tiptoes, he rubs his thumb over the tip of Bucky’s nose, wiping the flour from it. Steve then has Bucky crouch down a little. That way, he can brush the flour out of his fluffy hair. The entire time, Bucky was trying his hardest to beat the blush that was fighting to form on his cheeks. They were causing him to panic. **_“What is wrong with me?”_ **

“Thank you. Hey, do you want to play a game, Stevie? We can play superheroes or something,” Bucky hurriedly offers as he hops onto Steve’s bed, dangling his legs over the edge. Steve’s immediate response is, “Of course! But I get to have a shield as my weapon, okay?” Bucky smirks and says, “a shield isn’t a _weapon_ , silly. It protects you. But sure, it’s your birthday.”

“Oh, I can _make_ it one,” Steve bets through narrowed eyes. Bucky chooses his power and weapons, and with their creative imaginations, they begin their mission. Bucky is careful to keep an eye on the clock as they go. He didn’t want to keep Steve and Ms. Sarah waiting, after all.

After their 30 minutes were up, Bucky grabs Steve’s hand all of a sudden and leads him to the dining room table, per Ms. Rogers’s request. “Buck, what are we doing? We didn’t finish our game!” Steve whines as Bucky pulls him. When they get into the kitchen, Bucky stands in front of the cake and presents to block Steve’s field of view.

“What are you both doing? What’s going on?” Steve asks, starting to get irritated. Bucky and Ms. Rogers step to the sides, revealing Steve’s birthday surprise. “Ta-da!” Bucky shouts, overflowing with excitement.

Steve cups his cheeks with his palms. “Bucky, you helped my Ma make all of this?” he asks, face full of delight. Bucky nods happily and pulls out a chair for him and Steve. “Thank you, Ma. And thank you, Bucky. You both are the best! And sorry, Buck, I think we can pause our game for this,” Steve exclaims. 

The three of them sit down at the table and begin to open presents. As Steve opens his gift from his mom, Bucky watches him with pure joy. Bucky had never noticed this before, but in this yellow-lit room, he sees almost a halo of golden light around Steve’s head. He realizes how Steve’s honey-colored hair almost floats on air, a singular piece falling in front of his aqua eyes. Steve pulls a brand-new sketchbook out of the sunshine-yellow wrapping paper with wide eyes. “Ma, this is wonderful. I love it. Thank you!” 

“I’m glad, honey. You can read my card tonight. For now, open Bucky’s gift!” Sarah suggests as she hands Steve the baby blue gift bag, some white tissue paper poking out of the top. “I hope you like it, Stevie. Just so you know, there’s a card in there too,” Bucky clarifies to Steve as he pulls out what’s inside.

Bucky watches Steve’s eyes light up with delight when he takes out Bucky’s gift. Bucky had spent his allowance buying Steve the best set of colored pencils he could find, and his parents had helped him pay for a brand-new pencil sharpener, as well as some new watercolors. Seeing Steve happy like this makes his cheeks turn rosy and causes his belly to fill with butterflies - something that had never happened to Bucky before. He manages to swallow them down and wait eagerly for Steve to say something about the gift.

“Oh, God. Bucky,” Steve starts. His eyes begin to well up. “These are amazing, thank you, so much. How did you get these?” Bucky’s stomach fills with that same tingly feeling as he blushes and chuckles. “I had some help from my parents, but I used the rest of my allowance on it. You’re worth it, Stevie.”

Steve thanks Bucky again as he pulls the card out of the bag. It was homemade, complete with doodles of little stick figures, birthday cakes, and balloons. On the front, it read ‘Happy 9th Birthday Stevie’. The front cover of the card already makes Steve want to cry because of how much effort Bucky had put in (seeing as drawing was not his strong suit), but the real gift was what he wrote inside.

_“Hey, pal. I can’t believe that you’re already nine! I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. We match each other, balance each other out. We’re like pieces of a puzzle, Stevie, we complete each other. And I’m sorry for those horrendous drawings back there, by the way. My art is through my words. Drawing, that’s for you. I want you to know that I’m so glad I met you when I did. Having the privilege of knowing you is complete bliss for me. We’ve made so many amazing memories, and I can’t_ **_wait_ ** _to make a million more. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Stevie. And I won’t settle for less. I need you, pal, ‘till the end of the line.”_

Steve lingers over the last few sentences of Bucky’s handwritten message. As he reads the card, he couldn’t help but laugh at Bucky’s acknowledgement of his terribly precious doodles, either. He’s fighting back the tears now, all happy. “Buck…” is all he can say. Bucky gives him his signature scrunched-up smile and hugs him as he laughs, “oh, you know you love it.”

“I do, I do,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s ear. “Thank you, Bucky. Again. And thank you, Ma, for putting everything together! I love you both so much.”

Bucky gets up to turn off the light as Sarah lights the candles on the cake. “I’m sorry that it’s all crooked, by the way. My hands aren’t as steady as yours, Stevie,” Bucky calls from the other side of the kitchen. Steve looks at it and giggles. “No, I suppose not. But I still love it, Buck.” The three of them gather around the table and the cake, Steve sitting at the head of it. “Are we ready to sing, Bucky?” Sarah inquires with an eyebrow raised. Bucky nods, and they begin. 

As they sing for Steve, Bucky pays close attention to Steve’s face, illuminated by the lit candles. It softened every one of his features, and those same butterflies flooded Bucky again, this time even more. When they finish the ‘Happy Birthday’ tune, Steve promptly follows with a huff and blows out his ten candles - one for every year, and one extra for good luck. Bucky grins to himself as he turns the lights back on. **_“Happy birthday, Stevie.”_ **

The boys watch as Sarah cuts into the cake and places a slice to both of their plates. After serving them, she cuts a small piece for herself. “Mmm, this is delicious, Ma! How did you and Bucky make this so well?” Steve gushes, licking his lips. Sarah looks to him with a playful disapproving gaze. “A mother can’t _always_ share her secrets; now, can she?” 

All three of them laugh at that and finish up their cake. After helping with clean-up, Bucky decides that it’s time for him to go back to his family’s apartment. Besides, his mother was making vegetable-beef soup tonight, so he didn’t want to skip out. He also promised his mom that he would help out with preparing it.

“Sorry, Stevie, I don’t want to leave, but I promised my mom I’d help her out with dinner, and Iー” Bucky stammers apologetically, but Steve cuts in. “Hey, I get it. Thank you so much for _everything_ today, Buck. It means the world to me. Your gift _and_ your card. I love ya’, pal, and thank you again for spending today with me and my ma.” Bucky’s stomach fills with that tingly feeling, the same one he’s felt nearly all day. The same one that makes him get all warm and fuzzy inside. “Y-yeah, of course, Stevie. It’s no problem at all. I love you too. So much.”

That night after he gets home, after dinner, Bucky heads into his room and prepares for bed. Instead of going to bed, though, he stays up late and begins to write. If there was any hope of him understanding the things he felt about Steve today, writing them down was the best chance he had.

  
  


**_August 13, 1940 (present-day)_ **

**_“Hey, Stevie, this is something new for me. And I don’t plan on ever sharing this with you, but today’s been hard. In the best way possible, I mean. I can’t explain it, but I get the fuzzies in my stomach whenever I see you overjoyed. I swear to you, Stevie, I was blushing beet-red nearly all day, ever since you helped me out with that flour. And after giving you your card, I think I realized something. Everything about you is how I'd wanna be. You’re perfect to and for me, Steve, honest to God. I adore the way your freedom comes naturally, and the way you’re just naturally pure, appreciative of even the small things. I’m telling the honest truth when I say I nearly crumbled when you opened my gift. I know how much you hate crying, so it meant so much to me when I saw you soften up. And I paid some money for those gifts, yes, but you are so worth it, Stevie. And seeing you in the candlelight today, God. I don’t even know what I felt. My belly flooded with a feeling I couldn’t even explain to you. But I can tell you one thing. It made me feel beyond incredible.”_ **

**_“Bucky has been feeling this since age 10?”_ ** Steve quivers. It had taken Steve so long to realize how he felt about Bucky. Twenty-two years, in fact. Steve felt like a goddamn fool for taking so long. Bucky was here thinking that he was messed up for feeling this way about Steve when realistically, they were both feeling the same way about each other. And it made Steve feel _sick_ thinking about how Bucky was putting Steve on this little pedestal of perfection and tearing himself apart because deep down, they were the same. They had always longed for each other; they needed each other. As Bucky said, they were matching pieces of a puzzle.

Steve figures that he needs to read through every page as soon as possible, every single one. He sits on that tattered couch so long that his legs go numb, pins and needles poking him. He turns to the final page, but only after he reads every page twice. The one he feels he should save for last. By reading the date at the top of the page, he could tell that Bucky wrote this part this morning before he left.

_“You know, Stevie, I think what your ma told me way back in July of ‘27 must’ve resonated with me. She told me you loved me, and I really didn’t get it. I figured I had brushed it off. But looking back, I think that, even back then, I loved you too. I just hadn’t understood it yet. But you know what, Steve? I know now that I’ve loved you forever. I’ve loved you since before I even knew what the word meant at all. Your 9th birthday and forward, Stevie, I took it all in. All of you. Every little detail. Every single intimacy. You’ve ruined me, Stevie. In more ways than I care to admit._

Steve sucks in a breath but continues. He skims his finger over the final line Bucky writes, this time a few lines below the rest.

_“But, you know, I will say this. I haven’t regretted a minute of it. Not a one. And now, I know I won’t settle for any less than that.”_

Steve takes a minute to process all of Bucky’s writing when all of a sudden hears the door slam, and by instinct, he flips the notebooks shut. “Hey, Steve, I’m home,” Bucky calls, echoing throughout the apartment. Instead of hiding what he’s doing, Steve places all of the notebooks in a stack on his lap. He knows that he shouldn’t lie to Bucky, especially now. He owes him the truth.

“Sorry it took me almost an hour, Stevie,” Bucky apologizes as he places a small paper bag on the counter. “Mr. Miller wanted me to help out for a bit to lower the price of the food I bought, and I had to haggle with him for a bit. But I got us some oranges for breakfast, and…”

Bucky’s sentence trails off as he comes into the living room, still holding the fruit. He sees Steve sitting, tucked into the corner of the couch, journals still assembled in a stack next to him. “What’s going on here, Stevie?” he demands, yet with a calm demeanor. Bucky had a unique way of doing that. “...the wind?” is all Steve can stutter out. “I promise, Bucky. I didn’t outright go and read your writing. At least, not at first. But wait, I have something to tell you.”

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. We can talk about it after. I went out for a reason this morning, so I’m going to make sure I can give it to you,” Bucky consoles with a soft smile. Steve’s face turns into an expression of confusion. **_“Why the hell isn’t Bucky upset with me? He hated when I tried to pry into his business before.”_ ** Regardless, Steve takes what he can get.

Bucky sits next to Steve on the couch, seemingly closer than he ever had. For all Steve knows, it was the exact same distance as he had always been. Everything felt shifted now as if it was being painted in a new light. A _brighter_ light. “Here, I got this for you, pal.” Bucky hands the perfectly ripened orange to Steve. As Steve reaches out for it, he places his hands on Bucky’s and holds them there for just a moment longer than he should.

“Thank you, Bucky. Why did you go out this morning, though? Just for me?” Steve inquires, genuinely curious. As Bucky peels into the thick skin of his orange, he gives his answer. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it at first. We didn’t have enough food in the house for both of us this morning, and I wanted to save you the last apricot. I was going to wait until later to eat, but then I figured I had a little bit of money to spare this week on a treat for the two of us.”

Steve’s eyes light up as he bites into his first orange slice, so pleased to be eating such a delectable treat as his first food of the day. He hadn’t even noticed the apricot was there since he had been reading all morning. As he looks into Bucky’s eyes, he can feel the warmth being reciprocated. 

Both Bucky and Steve try to eat as slow as possible so they can savor their oranges. Towards the end of Steve’s slices, one bursts open, leaving the juice to dribble down his chin. “You got a little something on your face there, Stevie. You always have got to make a mess, now don’t you?” Bucky jokes. “No, I think that’s you, flour boy,” Steve teases right back. As soon as it comes out of his mouth, though, he wishes he could take it back.

“Oh my God, Buck. I’m sorry. I was trying to tell you before, but then you brought these for us, and, ugh, _please_ let me explain,” Steve begs. Bucky instantly becomes a bit more closed-off than he was a moment ago, but he seems more embarrassed than upset with Steve. 

“No, it’s alright. I promise you, Stevie, it’s always alright. I actually looked through all your sketchbooks before when I was waiting for you to get better from pneumonia. It was a dark time for me. But, you know, something tells me you already know that too. And if anything, Steve, _I’m_ sorry that you had to read through all of my crap. But go ahead, tell me what happened.”

So Steve begins gushing to Bucky: about the wind, about the notebook getting knocked onto the floor, and even Steve picking it up the wrong way to let the loose pages stick out. “Honest to God, Buck, I tried not to. But you know how much I’ve always loved the little tidbits you’d share with me. I just couldn’t. If I _hadn’t_ read every one, I would say I would never do it again, but, you know.”

The entire time that Steve shares his story, all Bucky can do is listen with wide eyes. **_“Is this really happening right now? It can’t be real.”_** No matter how much Bucky wanted to say it wasn’t, he knew it was true. After Steve finishes, he tries to recollect his thoughts. “So. After reading my entire love story for you, how do you feel? And I want the truth.”

All Steve wanted to do was tackle Bucky and love him forever, promising that nothing and no one could come between them. They’ve had each other for practically their entire lives, and all Steve wanted was to get the peace and joy in Bucky’s mind, holding onto it for the rest of their lives. But to do this right, Steve knew he had to take it slow. 

“Well, Bucky, after reading your entries, I learned a few things. I’m not going to lie, I panicked, at first. There was no way that I could feel that way.” Steve picks up on the way Bucky’s expression drops and feels the immediate guilt. “But, Bucky, hold on a minute. When I read your entries from January of ‘38, you changed my entire perspective on life. Every single thing that I have ever done; flipped right on its head. I see now that I was a complete fool for not noticing my true feelings sooner.”

With that, Bucky’s eyes brighten again. “You’ve got to be joking with me, Rogers. You can’t be serious. Please, don’t play with my feelings like that, Stevie, because I really couldn’t handle myself if you were.” Steve reaches out his palms to let Bucky hold onto them. He grips Bucky’s hands even tighter now. 

“I am not playing with you, Bucky. Do you hear me? And listen to me when I say this. You are not dark. You are not a corrupted, empty, twisted soul. Alright? As I read, I grew sick when I realized you have been placing me on this perfect little pedestal throughout all of these years. Because deep down, Bucky, I’m the same as you. We are two pieces that form a whole, Buck. I need you.”

All Bucky can do is stay there, his hands in Steve’s grasp. “Are you _sure_ , Steve? I don’t want to screw you over. And if you really don’t feel the same, I’ll get through it somehow. I’ll figure it out one way or another. Hell, I’ve made it twenty-three whole years thinking you didn’t feel the same way as me, so I’ll make it through alright,” he stammers. Steve gives Bucky the most affectionate look he had. It was times like these where Steve both loved him so much but hated him for tearing himself down.

“Buck. Bucky. _Listen_ to me. Do _not_ talk yourself down. I already regret taking so long to figure this out, pal. You are my other half, Bucky, and I am yours. Now that I know you feel the same way as me, I am _not_ letting go of you. Ever.” 

They sit together on the couch for another few moments, not saying a word. Bucky breaks the silence first. “Do you trust me?” Bucky questions, eyes full of hope. “Trust you to do what?” Steve responds, both concerned and confused. “I _said_ , do you _trust_ me?” Steve gazes into Bucky’s steel-blue eyes as he answers as confidently as he knows how. “I do.” 

Bucky responds to this by surging forward and pressing his lips onto Steve’s. Steve, although surprised, pushes back just as hard. Both of their lips interlock in the most natural way as if their lips had touched like this a million times before. They could taste the sticky, sweet orange juice lingering on each other's citrus-swollen lips as they did, making the kiss all the more delightful. Even though this was their first time together in this way, it felt absolutely perfect. 

In one swift motion, Bucky wraps his hands underneath Steve’s thighs and hoists Steve onto his lap, giving him a little boost. He pulls Steve closer to his chest as they fall backward, leaning back on the armrest of the couch now. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck comfortably, clasping his left forearm in his right hand as his hands dangle over the edge. They wanted to stay here forever, safe in their own world: protected from the public eye, protected from the people that could hurt them.

Eventually, as much as they are reluctant to, they pull away to catch their breath. Breathing heavily, Steve manages a “Woah.” “Woah, what?” Bucky sighs, breathing slightly less heavily, but still more than usual. Steve takes a few seconds to catch his breath and to acknowledge everything that just went down. **_“Did I just kiss my best friend? The one I’ve known for my entire life?”_** It seems that he did. Finally, after his breath returns to its normal state, Steve is ready to speak again.

“It’s just, that was against the law, Buck. What are people gonna think?” Bucky says nothing; he only glares at him. “You’ve never had a problem breaking the law before, now have you, Stevie? And you know what? I don’t even care what people think anymore. We can be careful.” And with that, Steve lets out a breathy laugh. “You know, Bucky, you’re right. And I’ll be honest with you, Buck. I liked that. It felt… right. Like you’re the one I’m supposed to be doing that with.” 

Bucky gives him that same old tilted smile, the one he’d give to him when they were kids. “Me too, Stevie. God, how was that so… _perfect?_ ” Steve sighs as if he was living out a daydream. “I honestly have no idea. But I can tell you one thing, Bucky. I love you _so_ much. I need you to know that.”

“Oh, Stevie, I love you too. I love you _so_ goddamn much, more than you could ever know or understand. And I promise, I know now that you love me too,” is what Bucky answers. The feelings of butterflies in their stomachs return now, this time for both Steve and Bucky. 

That night, they go to bed, cuddling more than they ever had before. And looking back on it, they realize that neither of them has changed at all. Both Steve and Bucky had been this way forever, even if they hadn’t fully realized it before. They were always in love with each other, and in more ways than one. All Bucky and Steve wanted to do was stay there, that night in their bed, having all the peace and joy in each other’s minds.


End file.
